


7 Boxes

by mistakeandcheese



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angry Logic | Logan Sanders, Angst and Humor, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders is a Little Shit, Awkward Logic | Logan Sanders, Bullying, Closeted Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Being an Idiot, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Angst, Emotionally Repressed, Gay Disaster Logic | Logan Sanders, Gen, Insecure Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Insecure Logic | Logan Sanders, Jock Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders Angst, Logic | Logan Sanders Has Feelings, Logic | Logan Sanders is Bad at Feelings, Logic | Logan Sanders is a Little Shit, Logic | Logan Sanders is a Mess, Logic | Logan Sanders-centric, M/M, Nerd Logic | Logan Sanders, Protective Morality | Patton Sanders, Sad Logic | Logan Sanders, Slow Romance, Tired Logic | Logan Sanders, but still artsy creativity, is patton sanders a sweetheart?, janus sanders might be a drug dealer, logan sanders is repressed, popular patton, possible intrulogical, possible logicality, remus is lets just call it fun to write, suggested prinxiety, yeah probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:20:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27447016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistakeandcheese/pseuds/mistakeandcheese
Summary: Everyone knew that Remus Duke was the craziest kid in the school.It wasn’t as much a diagnosis as it was a trademark.A style.A way of life.This would have been totally inconsequential to the life of Logan Sanders, except...
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil & Creativity | Roman & Deceit & Logic | Logan & Morality | Patton & Thomas Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Creativity | Roman & Logic | Logan & Morality | Patton, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders & Everyone, Logic | Logan Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	7 Boxes

Everyone knew that Remus Duke was the craziest kid in the school.

It wasn’t as much a diagnosis as it was a trademark.

A style.

A way of life.

It wasn’t uncommon for him to simply blurt out a random or obscene phrase in the middle of class. If there was a superlative for “most likely to smash one’s milk carton to a pulp, mix the contents of the food tray into a chunky stew, and attempt to drink said stew through a clogged bendy straw,” it would surely go to him. And though nobody in the school had seen him do it, there was not a doubt that in anyone’s mind that the legendary “Mona Feces-a” of freshmen year had been done by him (and that it was one of those events that would forever be ingrained in the collective memory of the school, even if the walls no longer bore the mark of its history.) 

Now, this wouldn’t be relevant at all to the life of Logan Sanders, had he not happened to have approximately 83 percent of his schedule this semester in common with this particular...specimen.

Today, for example:

In first block, he had observed with mild astonishment as Remus Duke burped the first 15 digits of Pi, vomited in his mouth upon the 16th, swallowed it, made a satisfied “mmm” sound, and continued on with belching the next 10 or so digits.

In second block, he had put his head in his hands in mild despair as Remus Duke interrupted with a loud scream sound every time the teacher used the word “syllabus.” (The first few times, an action received with concerned confusion, which quickly turned to annoyance and a request that Remus Duke leave the room.)

In third block, he noted the relatively toned down presence of Remus Duke, who (upon the one glance Logan did spare away from classwork) was happily sketching something that looked suspiciously like an elephant composed entirely out of phalluses, in the margins of his notebook, which unrelatedly, appeared to be singed at the corner.

And then, after his brief respite in third, the Duke rebounded in fourth block by volunteering to stand up in front of (the warily onlooking class) and recite his newest poem, titled “Musings on my poopy shute” and went verbatim as so:

“My poopy shute cannot be mute  
It’s loud and proud and browned to boot  
A gift I have for poopy toots  
When people hear they say ‘aw shoot’  
Away from my good gifts they scoot  
But I don’t mind my--”

And then he just farted.

Or rather, sharted. Whilst the class screamed with a mixture of amusement and horror at the new coloring seeming though his pants, he grinned and pulled a rumpled pair of leggings from his bag, saying, “Not to worry children. I brought an extra pair, just for this performance.”

Of course, these leggings were effectively see-through, and he was sent to the nurse’s office regardless.

However, all of this would have been inconsequential. Other than experiencing a resigned sense of annoyance at the prospect of wasted class time, Logan didn’t feel very strongly about Remus Duke. He didn’t particularly care for him, nor feel particularly appalled by him, either way. Remus Duke could be objectively disruptive and subjectively disgusting, odd, and horrifying, at times. But Logan didn’t see this as relevant to his own life. Distractions came and went, and if it wasn’t one person perpetrating them, it would inevitably fall to another, and he simply couldn’t see how all his classmates tittering and fussing about “The Duke” (As people had begun to title him) and his episodes was productive or conducive to achieving what should have been a collective goal of focused and diligent educational pursuit.

As implied by the above statement, Logan Sanders was a straight (ha) A student. A straight A student, who followed the rules when reasonable, who observed the rest of his class with a detached sense of mildly justified superiority, and who existed with a comfortable knowledge that he would probably never be invited to a party until he was a college student, due to the fact that he was quite useless at getting anybody (except perhaps a teacher or two) to particularly like him, crazy or not. He read his books, and he enjoyed them. And because he enjoyed them he was strange, and because he was strange he had to enjoy them all the more, because how else was he supposed to feel that he had anything to offer society?

He was, as some might phrase it, a “nerd.”

“Can anyone tell me why a satellite stays in orbit?” The teacher asked. Logan’s hand shot up in the air, followed by a few limp wristed others. 

This was sixth block, physics: the class that Logan looked forward to the most at the waning of each day. (His favorite subject, if anyone had ever taxed him with the question of which it was, would have decidedly been Chemistry. But then again, he also had a particular fondness for biology. And ooh! Ecology! Astronomy was another favorite, but that wasn’t offered as a course, so he had to study it on his own time. Physics was similar enough. Well, all the sciences were interconnected, really, so was it even possible to choose just one? He had never actually answered the question of his favorite school subject. He had never had to, as nobody had ever asked.)

“Yes, Roman?” The teacher called on Roman Prince, who, as Logan might phrase it, was the opposite of a nerd, an “anti nerd.” Loud, expressive, hotheaded, he was a member of nearly every socialite activity, from football to theatre to glee club to fencing to journalism to track to who knows what else. Whatever the precise assortment, it seemed he made room for all that extracurricular clutter by dumping the section of his brain devoted to academic pursuit out of the metaphorical window.

Roman Prince flipped his hand, grinning cockily. “Well, obviously it’s because the satellite is in space, and in space there’s no gravity. Duh.”

Oh, that was so wrong. 

“Well, not quite, Mr. Prince. Anyone else?”

The stakes were higher! Someone had gotten it wrong, meaning the question could subjectively be classified as “not easy.” Logan stiffened his hand, fingertips nearly quivering with the anticipation of solving the problem. 

The teacher eyed him, before scanning the room for other options. (Which Logan felt a minor twinge of annoyance at, but ultimately reasoned as permissible, seeing as how he tended to raise his hand for every question given the class, and should he be called upon every time, the teacher would fail in fulfilling their duty to test the knowledge of the other students.) 

“Patton?” The teacher gave a warm smile. “What do you think?”

Patton More, another non-nerd. Goofy, friendly, “funny,” some might say--he gave the impression that he was willing to be friends with anyone and everyone, which was probably why he was one of the most popular students in the school. Of course, Logan kept a reserved distance, knowledgeable of the fact that there was an unspoken rule when it came to transgressing the borders of the secondary educational caste system. Logan watched as his classmate smiled brightly, if not a little nervously, at being called on. “Well,” Patton said, chuckling slightly. “I’m not quite sure! Maybe because otherwise they’d be in orb-out?” 

The joke was irrelevant, but delivered with an amiable tone. The teacher gave a little smile, and the class laughed, except for Logan, who felt no need to laugh. He was somewhat fascinated, however. Compared to Roman, Patton seemed to display even less knowledge about space--and yet, he knew that he didn’t know, therefore making him more cognizant of his own faults, thus causing him to appear a more cognizant person on the whole. Interesting how people worked that way. (Sociology and phycology were two subjects Logan also might have listed, if asked to discuss favorites.)

But the answer was still _so wrong!_

Logan’s desk squeaked; without realizing it, he had applied almost all the weight of his body to the edge, in his effort to lean forward and make the urgency of his hand apparent to the professor. He saw the teacher eye the rest of the class, in a last ditch effort to get a less engaged student to participate in the discussion.

“Virgil, do you have any--?”

The resident goth-guy glared out from beneath his hoodie. “No.”

“Janus? Any ideas on how satellites stay in orbit?”

The guy everyone was pretty sure dealt drugs to the resident goth-guy quirked an eyebrow that clearly indicated he couldn’t care less about the teacher’s pitiful plight to draw a meaningful discussion out of the class. “They don't,” he drawled, smirking as he examined his fingernails for non-existent dust. “Because the earth is flat.”

“Oh God,” Logan groaned, figuratively snapping. “No, no that’s absolutely incorrect” He said, speaking up. He knew he should have waited for the teacher to call on him, but he just couldn’t take it. “The earth is not flat,” (he said, throwing a glare Janus’s way) “And the logistics behind a satellite's or- _bit_ ” (he pronounced the word with exaggerated emphasis, just in case any of his more ignorant classmates had been lead astray by Patton’s little joke from earlier) “are due to the _presence_ of gravity” (he gave a pointed glance to Roman, the anti-nerd) “rather than its absence.” He sighed, the tight, metaphorical wire that had been metaphorically strapped against his chest metaphorically loosening with the telling of the non-metaphorical truth. “The orbital path is caused by the satellite itself being in a constant state of falling. The satellite’s distance from the earth is not far enough for it to break from the gravitational field, but it is also far enough so that the planet’s rotation curves the surface away as the satellite falls, thus preventing the satellite from completing the path down.”

Having finished a seamless explanation of the true answer, Logan waited for a response. For acknowledgment. Perhaps even praise. 

A cheerful voice burped into existence. “Or maybe the satellite just wants to see us all naked!” It was Remus Duke, who was leaning back in his chair, smiling a crooked smile topped with darkly glittering eyes.

The teacher sighed. “Let’s all remember to _raise our hands_ before we speak, alright everybody?”

Logan’s mouth fell open, before he realized how stupid he probably looked that way and he closed it, and sagged quietly back into his desk. He hadn’t meant to break the rules! And now he was being periphrastically chastised and openly associated with--

(Remus Duke proceed to peacefully ignore the rest of the lecture, in favor of picking his nose and orally consuming the fruits of his labor)

\--that.

There were some giggles and muttering, following Remus’s input. Some of it was about Remus’s comment of course, but Logan caught a few snippets and side-eyes that may or may not have been aimed to convey some unflattering opinions pertaining to himself. He didn’t particularly care, but he decided it was appropriate to take a more receptive, listening role for the continuation of the class.

When the class ended, Logan collected his things, feeling largely discouraged by the day but not by any means unable to proceed in a productive manner through the rest of it. It took him a little longer than the rest of his classmates, because he always carried around a few more books than the average student might consider necessary. 

He was just exiting the room and heading to his locker when from behind him he heard an unsympathetic laugh, and he stumbled slightly out of step as someone shoved past him. “Make way, Battle Star Spazz-tica.” Logan glared after Roman Prince and his--Football? Theatre? Glee Club?--cronies as they guffawed to each other, for some reason gaining pleasure from the social outcasting of a person who probably outstripped all of their GPA’s summated. 

“Gladly, Prince anti-Charming” Logan muttered under his breath (oh, the agony of comebacks uttered too late!), as he rubbed the sore spot on his arm.

“Aw, hey, don’t worry about that, Champ!”

Logan nearly jumped out of his skin, as a hand slapped jovially down on his shoulder, and one of the most popular guys in the school fell into step beside him. 

“Pat--Patton More?”

No, Logan wasn’t starstruck. He was simply caught off guard by the prospect of a person--in particular Patton More--approaching him to converse as if it were a regular occurrence for them to converse at all in a casual and friendly context. 

“Yuppers. That’s my name, don’t wear it out!” With a hand still clasped amiably on Logan’s shoulder, Patton laughed, causing Logan to almost veer off course into a trashcan. (Patton More had much more physical power in his arms than would have Logan expected. He made a quick mental note of the fact before Patton’s hand slid from his shoulder.)

“Listen Liam--”

“It’s Logan.”

“Oh! Right, right, I’m sorry.” Patton laughed, waving back at someone who waved at him as he walked down the hallway, still, miraculously, with the objective of carrying a conversation with Logan. “I got a million names buzzing through my head every day, it just makes me dizzy sometimes!”

“That sounds like a problem.” Logan replied. “Have you considered making an appointment with a neurologist?”

Patton laughed again, and moved on from the point. “You’re a hoot and a half, Logan! But anyways, what was I saying?”

“You know, forgetfulness can be a sign of concussion.” Logan stated, deciding it was a helpful and ethical point to bring up.

“Oh right, Roman!” Patton said, snapping his fingers. “Like I was saying, don’t mind him, Champ. I think he’s just a little miffed from looking like he didn’t really know what he was talking about in class earlier.”

“Well, he obviously _didn’t_ know what he was talking about in class earlier. I don’t see why this has to be a source of emotional turmoil, however. He was wrong. I was right. And now he is resorting to pushing, like a bratty baby.”

Upon finishing his sentence, Logan noticed how strained Patton More’s smile had become, and he suddenly got the impression that he wasn’t making the very best impression. 

“Apologies. I don’t mean to complain about your...friend.”

“Well...hey. Hopefully you won’t have to anymore. Just...forgive and forget! And I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything like that again. Okay?”

“Oh...kay?” Logan said, cocking his head slightly as he tried to decide whether the offer was reassuring or threatening. He was also feeling somewhat disoriented by the fact that he had walked clean past his locker without even realizing it, and was now standing next to Patton’s, which was in an entirely different wing altogether.

Patton smiled, his cheeks dimpling and his eyes lighting up like a kid who’d heard Christmas came early. It didn’t make sense for someone to look so happy for such a trivial matter. Logan felt somewhat uncomfortable looking at him and decided to study the floor tiling instead. “Great.” He heard Patton More say. “It was nice chatting with you Logan. See you in class!”

Recognizing this as his cue to leave, he muttered a similar departing phrase, and turned back the direction he came.

When he got back to his locker, he noticed an odd smell, and something dripping sinisterly from the locker adjacent to his. After a good hard stare at it, he heard another voice say “Like what you see, Dr. Poo-Little?” And he looked up to see the grinning face of Remus Duke, who opened the locker, and pulled out his soiled pair of pants from English class. The Duke leaned a little closer, eyes earnest with the weight of a heavy secret. “They told me to put it in a plastic bag,” he whispered. “But I didn’t want to trap the stink ghost for too long. It might get angry.” Then he slammed his locker shut, slung his pants over his shoulder, and walked away, singing, “See you in class, grandma. And you too, locker-buddy.”

Logan would have taken a second to close his eyes and breath in slowly.

But the smell was starting to get to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm currently running off of Trump Lost the Election High, but after this I will shrivel back into my salted slug form. As always, comments are greatly appreciated and motivating! 
> 
> Peace


End file.
